BEA Extravaganza Post (AKA Holy

So the Book Expo may have singularly been the best work-related thing I’ve ever done. Not that it was only enjoyable on the work level; it was completely satisfying to the fanatical reader in me, too. Even though I’ve been in the publishing industry for four years or so, this was my first foray into a big book fair. And let me just say: wow. The Javits Center was loaded top to bottom with booths, which were loaded up with books and galleys and gizmos and authors and famous people and giveaways. It was like being at a real fair, but without the rides and where everything is free, and there’s central air conditioning.

But as far as the thrill factor goes, I’d say it was right up there with roller coasters. And the lines are shorter. Though not by much. Every hour, for three days, there were tons of author signings all over the convention center. Sometimes it was some random new author the publishing houses are trying to pump up, sometimes it was big authors like Nick Hornby or Michael Cunningham, sometimes stars like John Lithgow (who, by the way, we randomly ran into by the Mini Cooper a publishing house was giving away). And people would dutifully line up for miles. The lines got to be pretty out of control at times, and not just at the signings.

I went to find a bathroom the first morning, only to be greeted by a snaking queue of disgruntled looking women. Trying to make light of the situation, I leaned towards the woman in front of me and asked, “What book signing is this?”

You know those times when you think you are being all light-hearted and funny and then you realize half-way through some dumb remark that the person you’re talking to is a Serious Person who Doesn’t Feel Like Joking? Yeah, well. The woman just looked at me blankly and left me stuttering, “Ha ha. Just joking…long lines and all…”

In fact, for a convention where the Pilsbury Doughboy (cookbooks?) and the Idiot from the Idiot’s Guide books were wandering around, there were a lot of Serious People. Before I go into these other stories, you have to have a clear image of this convention center in your head: aisles and aisles of publishing houses trying to lure people into their area to talk about their books. When appropriate, this is often achieved with little tchatchkas and/or food. There are so many freebees that your mind starts to immediately assign hierarchy. Bulky paperweights and postcards: pass. Canvas bags and packets of gummy dinosaurs: grab. Every once in a while, some booth would have something wildly impractical or weird, like a bowl of loose ribbon candy all jelled together.

Onward. A friend I was with stopped to talk to the Yale University Press booth, and I noticed that their luring bowl was filled with: loose Fig Newtons. I found this really funny for some reason; like Fig Newtons were the perfect choice for this academic publisher. A little healthy fruit and cake for the fine passerbyers. I laughed a little and said, “That’s such a funny thing to give away!” thinking they were in on the whole thing. But alas, I got another blank look and had to quickly cover my statement with babblings about academia appropriate cookies.

Then of course, there was the Schmooney incident. My friend and I stopped to admire these weird little stuffed animals that were sort of cute. Unfortunately, we then opened the book that went with the stuffed animal. It may be all the free sugar we were hyped up on, but for some reason, we completely lost it when we flipped through the book. And that’s when the representative came up and tried to pitch us the book. I had tears streaming down my face, and this guy, without cracking a smile, continues with his pitch about how “Even if you’re made up of 5 different animals, you can be a hero, too.” We finally escaped and had to completely avoid passing the Schmooney booth for the rest of the day.

Once the clock hits 4:00 on the convention floor, it is P-A-R-T-Y time! Everyone hides their plastic whistles and brings out wine and cheese platters, mango daiquiris, shaken margaritas, and full bars. I passed one booth that simply had limes, salt, cups, and a bottle of Cuervo. I had just finished attending a panel on the “future” of graphic novels, which turned out to be Frank Miller being late and then smug for 45 minutes, and we went on the prowl for drinks. While standing on line for a margarita (that may or may not have been Tampico and tequila), we found ourselves next to a giant mound of cake that had been half dug into. “Is that a mountain?” I asked the guy manning the cake. He rolled his eyes at me and answered, “It’s a volcano.” “Oh, cool. Did it erupt?” He looked away and simply said, “Yep.” My friend and I tried to engage him a little more, but people, he was DONE talking about the volcano cake. He never once offered any reasoning behind the cake or offered us any of it.

And you have to feel a little sad about the man sitting behind the volcano cake who has lost the love. Maybe we should have brought him a margarita.